


Call Me

by thundercaya



Series: The Workplace Warzone [19]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Hospitals, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-18
Updated: 2016-09-18
Packaged: 2018-08-15 20:34:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8071813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thundercaya/pseuds/thundercaya
Summary: “You put on real clothes to go to the emergency room?”“I don’t want to die in a vomit-splattered Linkin Park t-shirt I’ve had for fifteen years.”





	

Thomas Jefferson’s ringtone for James Madison was “Our Song” by Taylor Swift. It was mostly a joke. Madison hated that song, but Jefferson was quick to point out that his opinion on the song didn’t matter, since he’d never be around when it went off. Jefferson had paid for that one day when he’d misplaced his phone and asked Madison to call it for him. “And hear that awful song? No thanks.” It had taken nearly thirty minutes for the phone to be located.  


Said song was playing now, cutting into Jefferson’s awareness and jolting him awake. He couldn’t sleep through Madison’s ringtone if he tried, and he would never try. He grabbed the phone and answered it.

“James?” He glanced at the clock. It was nearly two am. “Is something wrong?”

“Thomas.” There was so much effort behind those two syllables that Jefferson wasn’t surprised that they were followed by a few moments of strained breathing. Jefferson was out of bed with the lights on by the time actual words came. “I think I need to go to the emergency room. Can you take me?”

“You don’t want an ambulance?” Jefferson asked, going to his closet and pulling a jacket on over his t-shirt and sweatpants.  


“No. No ambulance.” Madison let out a groan. “Unless you can’t take me.”  


“Of course I can take you,” Jefferson said, grabbing his wallet off his night stand. “I’ll be right there.”  


  


Jefferson spent the drive to Madison’s place regretting that he hadn’t asked what was actually wrong. With no guidance his mind went over all the worst possibilities, the only thing tethering him to something resembling calm being the fact that Madison had called him rather than 911. If Madison, who always thought he was dying, _didn’t_ think he was dying, then he probably wasn’t. Jefferson used the spare remote to open Madison’s gate and pulled into the driveway. Safely parked with the engine still running, he called Madison.  


“I’m outside,” he said when Madison answered. “Should I come in and get you?”

“No,” Madison said. “I’ll be right out”

Madison slid into the car dressed in khakis and a polo. He was carrying an empty plastic grocery bag which Jefferson assumed was a precaution.  


“You put on real clothes to go to the emergency room?”  


“I don’t want to die in a vomit-splattered Linkin Park t-shirt I’ve had for fifteen years.”

“You’re not going to die, James,” Jefferson said, believing that now.  It was actually comforting that Madison had gotten dressed, that he still had space to worry about his appearance. Jefferson, meanwhile, was lucky that it occurred to him to put on real shoes before getting into an accident trying to drive in slippers. Jefferson leaned over and kissed the top of Madison’s head. “You’re gonna be fine.”  


“We’ll see.” Madison buckled his seat belt, then reached over to the side and dropped his seat back so he could lie down.  


Jefferson pulled out of the driveway. “So what’s wrong, exactly?” he asked. “You mentioned vomit?”

“The vomit isn’t the problem,” Madison said. “Or maybe it was? I mean, I felt a lot better afterwards. Before that I was in so much pain I almost couldn’t lift myself off the floor to do it.”

“So you’re okay now?”

“Considering how I felt before, ‘a lot better’ still isn’t exactly great.”

Jefferson patted Madison’s knee. “Sorry to hear that, hon. Just hold on. We’re almost there.”  


  


Jefferson left Madison at the emergency room entrance so he could get inside faster, then parked the car. When he walked inside, the nurse at the front desk was pulling a thermometer out of Madison’s mouth and noting the temperature. Jefferson joined Madison and resisted the urge to wrap a comforting arm around his shoulders.

“Who is this?” the guy asked. “Boyfriend?”

“Friend,” Madison said.

“Okay, well go on and have a seat. We’ll call you in as soon as we can.”

  


Madison alternated between hunching over in his seat and leaning back as much as he could, arms wrapped around himself all the while. He was clearly stiffing his groans, but some came through just the same. He cast a glance first at the clock on the wall and then at Jefferson, shooting him the mildly impatient look of someone whose server wasn’t going to be back with the ketchup before the fries got cold.

“I could be dying,” he said.

For not the first time in this waiting room, Jefferson had to stop himself from gently rubbing Madison’s back. “If they thought you were dying they’d rush you in. You’re gonna be okay.”

A few minutes and an eternity later, a door opened and a nurse leaned out.

“James Madison?”

Jefferson had the feeling that if Madison could have jumped out of his seat he would have, but as it was, he simply lifted himself out of it gingerly. Jefferson sat up in his own seat, looking questioningly from Madison to the nurse, not sure what the etiquette was here since he was merely a friend on paper. The nurse gestured at him.  


“Do you want him to come?”

Madison looked over at Jefferson before looking back at the nurse and nodding. Jefferson followed them through the door to where a doctor was seated at a computer, presumably reading over the notes sent over from the front desk. The nurse gestured at a couple of chairs. As Jefferson and Madison sat, the doctor turned to them and smiled.  


“Mr. Madison, a couple more questions. Where does it hurt exactly?”

Madison put a hand on his abdomen. “My stomach. And, uh, up into my chest, and around to my upper back. It’s, uh, kind of pulsing? But also constant. Um, I guess I mean it always hurts, but then it spikes up.”  


The doctor nodded, noting this down on her computer. “Okay. What did you have for dinner?”  


“Uh... sandwich,” Madison said, sounding like it had been a hundred years ago and he’d had to dig deep to remember. “Just ham and cheese. And... then a Drumstick. Uh, the ice cream kind. With no peanuts since peanuts would kill me.”  


“Right, peanut allergy,” the doctor said, glancing at the computer again, then back at Madison. “Have you been under any stress lately?”

“Only every moment of my life,” Madison said.  


“He has anxiety,” Jefferson explained. “Diagnosed. In the books. But.…” he turned to Madison. “You’ve got some things going on too, don’t you James?”

“I’m trying to get a bill through the House…. My brother is getting married next month. My sister just had a baby and I need to figure out when I can go see her. My brother just lost his job, and my mom asked if I could send some money and I can, but I haven’t had the chance to figure out how much.”

“Money for the wedding?” the doctor asked.

“No, that’s a different brother,” Madison said. “I have… several.”

“Now, has this happened before? Recently?”

“Well, the first time I can remember was over the summer. I had it pretty much the entire night. I even threw up and it didn’t help. I just figured it was because I ate my mother’s chili after not eating the entire day. Her chili is very intense.”

“You shouldn’t skip meals like that,” the doctor said.

“Well, normally I wouldn’t, but I didn’t want to vomit on the plane.”

“The plane?”

“I had to fly to California for my brother-in-law’s funeral.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry for your loss. This isn’t the husband of your sister who just had a baby, is it?”

“No, it was my brother’s husband. That’s why it was important for me to go even though I didn’t want to get on a plane; a lot of the family wasn’t there. I, uh, thought getting sick that night was an isolated incident at the time, but about a month ago I had it three nights in a row. It was only for a couple hours, though, and even that first time it was never as bad as tonight.”

“A month ago?” Jefferson repeated. “You didn’t tell me about that.”  


Madison shrugged. “I thought I must have eaten something bad.”

“What _did_ you eat?” the doctor asked.  


“I don’t remember what I ate the whole day, but I did have leftover pasta for dinner.”

“White or red sauce?” the doctor asked.

“Uh... red.”  


“You thought you ate something bad and you ate it two more nights?” Jefferson asked.  


“Excuse me if I didn’t have it in me to cook anything when I was trying to finish drafting my bill.”  


The doctor turned to her computer, typing a few notes. “Well, if you’re stressed out trying to get it passed, I’m sure you were stressed out trying to write it, so this could very well be psychological–” Madison looked at her like he wanted to kill her, but absorbed in her computer she didn’t seem to notice “–but of course we’ll run some tests and see if anything comes up.”  


  


Madison was put in a room and Jefferson waited outside while he changed into his hospital gown, keeping up their appearance as friends. When Madison pulled open the curtain and beckoned him in, Jefferson refrained from mentioning that he wouldn’t have died in his pajamas even if he hadn’t put on real clothes only because he didn’t want to bring up the topic of death. The nurse returned as well and told Madison to get comfortable before he set to work drawing blood.  


While the nurse prepped Madison’s arm, his other hand gripped the rail on the bed and Jefferson wished he could hold it. Madison held eye contact with Jefferson, trying to keep a straight face while the nurse slipped the needle in. When his body tensed up and he winced, Jefferson sat up straighter in his seat.  


“Sorry,” the nurse said. “Your veins are really small.” He discarded the needle, having dulled it in his failures.  “Let me try the other side,” he said, grabbing a fresh one. Jefferson switched position with him and Madison turned his head to meet his eyes again. Once the needle was in, Madison turned away from Jefferson to watch the blood collecting into the vials. Once he was done with the blood, the nurse flushed some water into the tube attached to the needle, then taped the whole thing down to Madison’s arm. “I’ll be back,” he said, before disappearing with the blood samples.  


Madison gave a frustrated sigh. “Okay, but how do you not look at me and just figure I probably have small veins? The last time I got my blood taken I didn’t even feel the needle go in.”

Jefferson shrugged. “Maybe he’s new.”

The nurse came back with a bag, which he hung up next to the bed and hooked up to the needle already in his arm.

“Saline,” the nurse said. “And I’ll be back with something for your stomach.”  


  


For a long while nothing happened. Jefferson sat bedside, fingers moving over Madison’s hand as they both listened for footsteps.  After reading all the posters on the walls and spending some time watching the levels in the saline and medicine bags slowly go down, Jefferson squeezed Madison’s hand and smiled at him.  


“You doing okay?” he asked.  


“I guess so,” Madison said. “My pain is mostly gone. I’m just really tired.”

“Well, you’ve been up all night. And puking takes a lot out of a person.”

Madison let out a laugh. “Yeah, like their most recent meal.”

Jefferson snorted. “I swear I didn’t do that on purpose.”

“I don’t care. I needed that. Thank you.” Madison pulled Jefferson’s hand to his mouth and kissed his fingers. Jefferson was about to return the favor when the scrape of curtain rings caused him to drop Madison’s hand instantly, his own hand settling quickly on his lap.

“Gentlemen,” the doctor greeted. “Mr. Madison, good news, your blood work all came back clean, which rules out a few nasty things that could have been wrong. Now as for what _is_ wrong, given your symptoms and what you ate before it happened, and the fact that it’s only ever happened at night, I would say you have acid reflux.”

“I don’t have _heartburn_ ,” Madison said. “It’s more like a scorched earth military campaign through my insides.”

“Unfortunately, heartburn can be the least of it. The good news is you should be able to manage it by not lying down after you eat, not eating late at night, and by avoiding the foods that tend to trigger it.”

“What, like chili?”

“Yes, and any other spicy foods.”

Madison took a deep breath. “I… guess I can manage that.”

“Citrus fruits as well,” the doctor continued. “And tomatoes, including tomato products like ketchup. And pizza and pasta sauce.”

Madison’s mouth pulled into a tight line.

“A lot of places offer pesto sauce,” Jefferson put in quickly. “We’ll look around. And, uh, you like Alfredo, right? For pasta?”

“Yes,” Madison said distantly. “Anything else?”

“Chocolate.”

Madison’s mouth dropped open with dismay. “But that’s not acidic.”

“Well, no,” the doctor explained. “But what’s happening to you is that a sphincter is opening up when it shouldn’t and letting acid and things try to come back up. Chocolate basically _tells_ the sphincter to do that.”

“Doctor, is there no chance that this is actually fatal and I could just die right now and not have to live in the Hell you’re describing to me?”

“If it’s any consolation, white chocolate is fine,” the doctor offered. “The problem is in the cacao and white chocolate doesn’t have any.”

“So, only white?”

“Yes.”

“Isn’t that racist?”

The doctor faltered. “Uh.”

“It’s not racist, James,” Jefferson said.  


Madison cleared his throat and looked away. “Right. Sorry. I don’t know why I said that.”

“Because you’re exhausted,” Jefferson offered.

Madison nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, I am.”  


The doctor coughed into her fist. "Moving on. As for your stress, that definitely doesn't help, but since it's already 'in the books' I'm sure your regular doctor has already discussed that with you."  


"At great length and in great detail," Madison confirmed.  


"Okay. Well, go see them in the next couple of days to follow up. If you feel your symptoms before then, come back to the ER right away. The nurse will be by in a few minutes to remove your iv. He'll direct you to the checkout desk, then you can go home."

  


Back in his regular clothes, Madison swayed on his feet waiting for his turn at the checkout desk. Jefferson put a hand on his shoulder to steady him, as casual as he could manage. To sell his disinterest more--and also because he hadn’t done it yet--he used his other hand to pull out his phone and check the temperature on his weather ap. After screencapping it, he glanced at Madison, who was looking up at him contritely.  


“I’m sorry,” Madison said.  


“For what?”

“Dragging you out of bed in the middle of the night to bring me here.”

“Don’t be sorry. You didn’t do anything.”

Madison signed. “Considering the list of things I’m not supposed to eat and how much of them I’ve been eating….”

“You didn’t know that.”

“Well... thank you, then.”

Jefferson smiled. “That I’ll accept.”  


When it was their turn, Madison answered a few questions and received his outgoing papers. He looked them over as they walked in the morning sunlight to Jefferson’s car. He sighed.  


“What?” Jefferson asked.  


“They marked you as my boyfriend.”

Jefferson scoffed. “Well, I wish I knew that _before_ I went out of my way not to touch you.”  
  


Every time Jefferson glanced at Madison in the passenger seat, he was staring at the outgoing papers almost mournfully, presumably re-reading the list of things he wasn’t supposed to eat.  


“Listen, we’re gonna make this fun,” Jefferson said. “I’m gonna look up all kinds of recipes that don’t have any of the things you can’t eat, and we’re gonna try them all until we find a bunch of meals you love.”

“Can we not talk about this right now?” Madison asked. “I’m starving, but I’m not sure if I can eat right now.”

“Okay,” Jefferson said. “I’ll have some food for you when you wake up.”

“You’re staying, then?”

“If that’s okay,” Jefferson said.

“Yeah, of course. I got you out of bed in the middle of that night. But in that case, I need to go in to work. It’ll look weird if we both call in.”  


“James, you said that eating only white chocolate is racist. You can’t go to work.”

Madison made a fist and hammered it onto his other palm. “Dammit, you’re right. Fuck.”  


“We’re not even together most of the day,” Jefferson pointed out. “No one will notice.”

“Hamilton will.”

“If Hamilton were going to say anything, he would have by now.”  


“I guess so,” Madison sighed. “All right. I’ll stay.”

“Good,” Jefferson said. “And hey, if this ever happens again, or something else happens, you call me again, okay? I don’t care what time it is. I don’t care what I’m supposed to do the next day.”

“What if you’re the President?”

“ _Call me_ ,” Jefferson insisted, pausing before adding; “and one of my staffers will assist you.”

Madison laughed. “Wow, thanks sweetheart. That’s so romantic, I might throw up again.”

“As long as you do it in your plastic bag.”  



End file.
